by S MacDonald
Nobody spoke much during the next twenty minutes, other than for exclamations of delight and an occasional ‘Skipper!’ to draw Alex’s attention to a particular discovery. There was one burst of cheering, too, rapidly taken up throughout the ship.
Morry Morelle was responsible for that. The astrogator had succeeded in triangulating stars to pinpoint the origin of Arak’s broadcast, matching this to an island on the scans they’d taken of Carrearranis during their brief orbit of the system.
More than that, though, he had noticed that each of the communities sending a message had identified themselves by a number. While other analysts were noting this as extremely unusual, since humans tended to give places names rather than numbers, their astrogator, Gunny Norsten, had recognised that they might well be some kind of grid references.
He had, therefore, managed to get a fix on a second point of origin, and from that, calculated what scale would operate between the reference numbers. He had known he was right as soon as he saw that a grid based on dividing the globe into 512 degrees would match the coordinates to the known points of origin. Using this, Latitude 000 was the northern geographical pole and 512 the south. An apparently randomly selected longitudinal 000 bisected nothing but ocean. Just to confirm it, every other identified community matched perfectly to islands.
Within moments after that, they had a map of Carrearranis with all the known inhabited islands identified on it, each tagged with all the information yet obtained about each of them. It was a major step forward, to be sure, but it was the thrill of seeing those islands light up with information which made people cheer. They had all become very familiar with the holo of Carrearranis in the middle of the command deck datatable. It was a blue and white world, blue sea covering 99% of the surface and much of that often obscured with cloud. There were tens of thousands of islands, all of them tiny – the biggest only around thirty kilometres long by twenty wide and most of them much smaller. They didn’t even have visual scans of most of them, since the cloud cover had concealed so many during that one opportunity to scan the planet. All they had were heatscan and radar images giving the topography and vague hints of regular shapes which might have been structures.
Now, that globe lit up with information, showing that the inhabited islands formed a narrow band around the equator, lit up as if the planet had a ribbon of lights around it. Alex laughed with pleasure to see it, giving the astrogator a nod of acknowledgement as people cheered. It was a quick cheer, though, as they were so focussed on what they were doing themselves that they were barely taking time to breathe. Just seconds after that, Davie slapped an analysis onto the table which revealed that every signal they’d received had the island ID number embedded in it, that it was not a crackle of static as they’d assumed from analysis of the broadcast which had taken out their comms, but the caller ID. Furthermore, he said, if they used that call-ID in their own signals, it was possible that they’d be able to call the individual islands.
It was a process of discovery being mirrored on the other ships. The messages from Carrearranis had been transmitted to the rest of the squadron routinely and they too were carrying out their own analysis. This meant, of course, that there was duplication, but Alex valued that independent evaluation. When they came together to compare their findings it would consolidate what they’d all agreed upon and generate debate on any points where they differed. By ‘the rest of the squadron’ for this purpose was meant the other two Fourth’s ships, the Excorps ship and the Stepeasy.
Now, though, they had also to consider the ships from Telathor. It had already been agreed that they could not be involved in the analysis and discussion that the Fourth had to be left alone to do their thing. They were, however, watching. The live feed from the Heron’s command deck was being broadcast to all the other ships for them to do their thing as observers, and observe. The Diplomatic Corps was managing that, fielding questions and explaining as best they could what the Fourth was doing. Typically of the Corps, they had defined the Fourth’s current activity as ‘primary live data scrutiny’ with their comms status set firmly on ‘do not disturb’.
The Fourth, therefore, were able to concentrate on the task in hand. Most of them were so focussed on what they were doing that they’d forgotten about the civilian audience anyway. Certainly nobody felt it necessary to explain anything in any way that would be comprehensible to a non-scientific, non-spacer observer. Even something as simple as a note that the Carrearranians used base eight for their grid referencing would need explaining to many of those watching. Linguistic and social analysis would take hours to go through and would inevitably be argued about by people who did not understand it. Alex himself would need several hours to read all the reports in detail.
Right then, though, he sat back after that first intense quarter of an hour with a smile, satisfied that he had a fair grasp of the essential points. They had mapped Carrearranis and identified five hundred and ten inhabited islands. They had made good progress with the translation matrix which was becoming more reliable with every exchange. They had a wealth of information about the many communities scattered around the planet and, vitally, confirmation of their friendly intent.
As far as Alex was concerned, though, there were five words of that message which had seared across his consciousness like letters of fire. He had, with great self-control, merely highlighted them rather than yelling or jumping to his feet as he’d felt like doing. They were words which opened up possibilities so thrilling it made him catch his breath even to think of them, yet so precarious he hardly dared even to put so much pressure on them as to speak them aloud. Those words were until the clean ship comes.
He was not the only one to have spotted that. Analysis had come in from many directions, including both Shion and Davie, confirming Alex’s own belief as to what it meant. What it implied was that if a ship arrived at Carrearranis meeting the Guardian’s definition of ‘clean’, which most likely meant sterile, it would be allowed to approach and even to land on the planet.
The Fourth had some experience of sterile first-contact parties. It was, Alex knew at once, within their capability to do that here. And if they could, and if the Guardian accepted that their ship posed no threat, which could be their way in not only to Carrearranis but to access the Olaret technology. And they were, at any rate, to be permitted to return close enough to the system to exchange messages far more readily than was possible right now.
‘Excellent,’ said Alex, with a nod of commendation for the team which had pulled together to such effect. Then, glancing at the screens which showed all the mess decks and working areas throughout the ship, he noted that nobody across the ship had any intention of going back to bed tonight. He hardly needed to look, anyway. One of the advantages of the open comms system was that it allowed him to pick up the mood of the ship, half consciously, through awareness of the buzz of conversations. Right now it was loud and excited, with eager exclamations everywhere as people seized on fragments of data of particular interest to them. It would be at least two or three hours before the ship began to settle again. ‘I think,’ said Alex, ‘this calls for some soppo.’
That got a cheer, bewildering to civilians.
‘I simply do not understand the purpose,’ said Professor Parrot, when a rigger brought soppo and dogs to the Second’s laboratory. He eyed the tray containing mugs and wrapped rolls with a doubtful air. ‘The galley is open for snacks at any time,’ he observed. ‘And there is always a choice. But then periodically and apparently randomly they give you a mug of tomato soup and a beef roll without even asking if you want it, let alone offering any alternative.’
‘I believe,’ said one of the research team, snaring a mug and roll with one hand while continuing to write with the other, ‘that it’s some kind of team-bonding ritual.’
This got a mumble of agreement from the others, but they were immediately caught up in the data again and most of the soup and rolls stayed on the tray, untouched. Even the resea
rcher who’d taken his only took one bite of the hot beef roll and a gulp of soup, then left it to congeal on the side of his console.
Across the rest of the ship, though, the soppo and dogs were much enjoyed. Every member of the Fourth understood that a shipwide issue of soppo meant that the situation was being defined as one of extraordinary activity, a time in which normal schedules were being set aside. There was, too, a heart-warming sense of unity not just in sharing the same food with everyone on the ship but in awareness that this tradition in the Fleet went back centuries. And on this occasion there was also the pleasure of enjoying the savoury soup and hot beef rolls themselves, as they’d run out of them weeks ago. The last time Alex had asked for soppo and dogs to be issued, the best the galley had been able to do was powdered coffee and crackers.
Alex enjoyed his, too, and enjoyed even more the sense of contentment which washed through the frigate. This would never happen on a regular Fleet ship. For a start, the crew would not have been woken at the news of a signal arriving from Carrearranis, and even if they’d woken one another they would not have been permitted to see the footage. The signal would have been viewed only by the command rank officers, with a briefing prepared then for the more junior officers and the crew told only what the skipper thought was necessary for them to know. There would have been no question of everyone aboard the ship being allowed to see the full data, let alone to see it at the same time as the command team. Given that, it was understandable that the fact Alex encouraged his crew to actually participate in the analysis had been known to make Old School members of the Fleet incoherent with appalled indignation.
There were no Old School Fleet here to splutter anathemas, of course, but the LIA were doing a fine job of standing in for them. It had been agreed beforehand that the Fourth would not be interrupted by any of the observers while responding to any signal they might receive. The Comrade Foretold had accepted this, albeit grudgingly and holding on to the proviso that they reserved the right to respond themselves to anything they considered a threat to the security of the League.
Clearly, they regarded the receipt of any signal at all in such a light. They were on comms to Alex very fast, wanting to know how much weight he was giving to the possibility that this signal was, in their words, ‘misinformation with malevolent intent’. When Alex ignored this, as he had no intention of allowing the LIA to badger him at such a time, they sent a blistering reminder that the Marfikians had lured the first contact ship to their world, reverse engineered it and exploded into the galaxy as a lethal enemy to all other worlds, with casualties from their invasions and destruction of cities estimated to be approaching two billion. Given that, the League Intelligence Agency felt themselves to be entirely justified in demanding extreme caution from the Fourth in engaging with this unknown world, particularly given that it had already demonstrated very powerful, unknown weapons systems. On that basis the LIA demanded to know what weight the Fourth was giving to the possibility that this was misinformation intended to entrap one of their ships for reverse-engineering or other malevolent purpose.
Alex ignored this, too. If he responded at all, he knew, he would find himself engaged in the kind of debate which would only intensify and go on for hours without any possibility of resolution. So he relied on their ‘off comms’ status to return an automated signal informing the LIA that they were not receiving comms other than from authorised callers at the moment, due to pressure of work. That would naturally infuriate the LIA even more but Alex was making a point. The LIA could watch everything that was happening and would have their opportunity to have their say, as had already been agreed, but Alex was not going to allow them to interfere.
So he concentrated on the task in hand, oblivious to all the excited and sometimes acrimonious signals flashing about between the civilian ships. He was by then absorbing reports from all the people eager to bring discoveries to his attention. Some he merely noted in passing, like the observation that all the signals had shown primary speakers standing between seven and ten metres from the camera, or that three of the images had small wooden boats in the background. There would be time to consider the implications of those things later. Others caught his attention more immediately, as with Davie’s suggestion that they make an effort to identify and communicate with the man he’d singled out.
‘Why?’ Alex queried, since the young man didn’t seem at all unusual to him, just one of a group of younger people watching as Arak made his speech and introduced the elders.
Davie smiled.
‘I am always,’ he told Alex, ‘the smartest guy in the room. So I’m pretty good at sizing up whether there’s anyone there worth talking to.’ He tapped the image of the young man with a decided finger. ‘He’s worth talking to. He’s intelligent, obviously, and progressive, is keen to meet us and for all the benefits that change will bring his world. I think he can help us.’
‘All right.’ Alex did not doubt that Davie had been able to make that analysis based only on observing the man’s demeanour while Arak was talking. Davie could read micro-expressions so fast and subtle that most people couldn’t even see them. Nor did he challenge Davie’s assertion that he was ‘always the smartest guy in the room.’ That had not been said in any spirit of arrogant superiority, but as a simple statement of truth.
Silvie, however, took exception to it. She was wandering around the ship enjoying the buzz and sense of purpose the way other people might enjoy a fresh mountain breeze. Hearing what Davie said, she messaged him at once with an ‘Oi, you!’ which he understood to mean that she was every bit as intelligent as he was and didn’t appreciate being put down. Davie, however, just grinned and messaged her back, ‘I said smartest, not most intelligent. I’ve got skills and experience you haven’t.’
For response, the quarian ambassador sent back a rude noise, which Davie chuckled at briefly but let go.
The next point of interest was raised by Buzz Burroughs.
‘If we accept Arak’s statement that every community took part in that call,’ he told Alex, ‘and allowing for some non-participants, I make the population of the planet approximately a hundred and thirty thousand.’
There was silence on the command deck. Even the smallest colony had populations in the millions, and on the central worlds populations of forty or fifty billion were considered normal.
‘There are stadiums which hold more than that,’ Martine Fishe said, with some awe at the thought that the entire population of Carrearranis could be seated in a sports stadium. There was a murmur of amazement through the ship, too, at that mental image. Alex shook his head slightly.
‘Is that even possible?’ he asked. ‘Genetically, I mean?’
Buzz nodded. ‘Much smaller populations than that are genetically sustainable,’ he assured him. ‘But my guess is that they practice some kind of population control.’ He pulled up a previous analysis by a member of the crew who’d worked out how many people the planet could support given the tiny amount of habitable land and the ‘rules of life’ which Arak had told them in his first broadcast. From that it had been apparent that the Carrearranians lived at a very primitive hunter-gatherer level. They did not dig minerals out of the ground and they did not even cut living wood, which must severely limit the resources they had for house and boat building. Her calculation had been that if they really did live like that, the islands were unlikely to sustain a population of more than a hundred and fifty thousand. Nobody had taken that very seriously at the time, as it was just one of hundreds of speculative pieces. Now, though, it chimed with Buzz’s own observation. ‘I believe this is a managed population,’ he said, with a significance which caught Alex’s ear.
‘Managed by the Guardian?’
Buzz held up his hands slightly in a gesture indicating that they couldn’t be sure of anything at this point.
‘One way or another,’ he said cryptically, and Alex gave a thoughtful nod.
All that they knew about the Guardian had been told the
m by Arak – that it was an ancient ship, left there by the people who had settled them on their world. Its role was to protect them, but it was clear that it had also acted as a guide throughout their world’s history. It gave them the rules of life, taught them about their own history and something of the worlds beyond; even provided a rudimentary scientific education. It did not allow itself to be worshipped as a god, ensuring that every generation of Carrearranians understood that it was merely a vessel and in their service. But that it was a very powerful influence in their society was beyond question, and just how powerful and what influence it exerted was high on the list of priority questions. If it was in some way managing the population, either by advising or by more direct methods, that had very worrying implications.
‘The overall intent may be benign,’ Buzz said. ‘I don’t say it isn’t. But benign intent for the community as a whole may override what we consider to be the rights of individuals.’
Alex nodded. The right to have children was considered a fundamental human right in the League. Even on the massively over-populated capital world Chartsey, people would not stand for any interference in that right. A hard-hitting civil responsibility campaign trying to get people to limit themselves to one child had caused such furore that people were still indignant about it decades later. So if the Guardian was indeed controlling the numbers of children the Carrearranians had, that would make it, by League standards, a human-rights abusing tyrant. Even if the public didn’t hear about it, Alex knew, there would be demands from informed authorities that they must move in fast and liberate the Carrearranians from such tyranny. This was what the Diplomatic Corps called a ‘sticky’, and had just gone straight to the top of the issues they had to clarify.
